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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28141179">Justice Was Her Middle Name</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/BleedingViolet/pseuds/BleedingViolet'>BleedingViolet</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blood and Injury, Death, Drinking, F/M, Gun Violence, Illnesses, more characters and tags to be added, should be a mixture of wholesome and heartbreaking, wrote this on a whim; it's definitely a work in progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:42:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,876</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28141179</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/BleedingViolet/pseuds/BleedingViolet</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Young Estella Jones witnessed her father's death at the hands of the notorious O'Driscoll gang, tearing apart her perfect little family and leaving her to fend for herself. When her mother passes away from illness, Estella is left with one, sole motivation: revenge. Only, a series of star-crossed meetings with Arthur Morgan leads her life in a very different direction. With a common enemy, Estella finds herself falling in among outlaws and, worse, falling in love with one.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Justice Was Her Middle Name</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello friends! So, this is my first fanfiction in a very long time and my first time posting here. As of now, this story is the product of a whim, but the more I write it, the more invested I become. That being said, I mostly want this to be a feel-good fic, nothing to be taken too seriously--though, there will inevitably be heart break and violence (it is set within Red Dead, after all).</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>To hear Estella’s mother tell the story, her birth was a miracle--born on a cold, December night in the back of a covered wagon, her first cries rang out into the wilderness. Her parents met during the war, native to New York City. Elijah Jones, her father, descended from a line of Irish immigrants on his mother’s side and chose to fight for the Union when the time came. Her mother, Judith, trained as a war nurse more out of necessity than by choice--her family home had become a makeshift hospital as the civil war ravaged her region. When Elijah retold the story of their meeting, he referred to Judith as his guardian angel; she nursed him back to health after he caught a bullet in the arm.</p><p>The war haunted her parents--on each side of the war, battlefield and bedside, they had seen their fair share of death. At the conclusion of the war, Elijah found Judith and they eloped in the dark of night, escaping familial disapproval and seeking a new life in the west. They had tried for years to bear a child, and as her mother aged, hope dwindled. As the saying goes, however, all good things come to those who wait. Her father became a lawman, which suited his military background. For a few short years, they led a happy little life on the American frontier. </p><p>Estella Justice Jones: her parent’s pride and joy, a bubbly and talkative child who knew no stranger. She got into mischief just as well as she charmed her way out of it. The girl seemed to light up every room, her bright smile often conning complimentary candies from the general store owner. She warmed even the coldest of hearts, becoming a frequent sight in the saloon, where she would sneak off when her father brought her to town. There, she learned to count cards and put on a poker face--the gamblers amused until they started losing to a ten-year-old. At home, her mother schooled her in reading and writing, even teaching her medical skills the woman had picked up from her days as a war nurse.</p><p>But the notorious American west had little place for gentle souls and her fairytale came to an abrupt end. A group of outlaws rode into town one day: boisterous, loud, and careless. When Estella tried to peer out at all the commotion, a half-eaten peppermint stick hanging out of her mouth, the general store owner pulled her way. She was instructed to hide behind the counter. Then came the gunshots that would forever ring in her ears, that would haunt her in restless sleep as long as she lives. The candy fell from her mouth and her tiny body managed to slip away from the store owner’s grasp. Long, untamed red hair flew back behind her as she raced outside.</p><p>She first caught a glimpse of the outlaws hurrying off, thick Irish accents shouting over their horses’ retreating hooves. Estella pushed her way through the gathering crowd--there, in a pool of his own blood, lay her dear father, lifeless and barely recognizable. The twelve-year-old hugged him tightly, blood soaking into her little pink dress, only able to be coaxed away by the combined efforts of her sobbing mother and the town preacher. Through tears welled in her green eyes, she stared at the footprints left by her father’s killers. Her young heart was filled with a desire it did not yet understand: vengeance.</p><p>Estella and her mother were left with little to their name; the young girl was rarely seen in town after the funeral and her mother spent long nights in the saloon, often not returning home the next morning. She was fourteen when her mother fell ill. One town gossip conjectured that heartbreak had finally gotten to the poor woman, others suggesting she ‘picked something up’ from one of ‘those dirty travelers’ in the saloon. After that, Estella cared for her bedridden mother, occasionally seen driving the cart into town to pick up supplies from the general store.</p><p>It was during one of these supply runs that she ran into a young boy around her own age--quite literally, in fact. The mousy, mud-coated boy ran right into her, knocking Estella onto her back, hand catching a splinter on the general store’s wooden porch.</p><p>Instead of apologizing, the boy looked at her with a sense of urgency, “I gotta hide.” His eyes were wide, words a panicked jumble. He’d gotten himself into some sort of trouble, no doubt. Estella hadn’t seen him around before, either. He wasn’t part of the usual lot she created mischief with. In the distance, she spied a group of men on horseback racing their way. </p><p>She sighed heavily, but couldn’t ignore his pleading eyes. “Get on the cart. Come on, I’ll cover ya.” </p><p>He nodded, and she did as promised, hiding him among the groceries and her mother’s tonics. She hopped in the driver’s seat, taking the reins as the men in pursuit approached.</p><p>“You seen a boy running through town, got the look of a troublemaker?” They pressed her.</p><p>Estella, plastering on an undefeated poker face, shook her head. “I’m afraid not mister,” she spoke calmly, “might wanna check the churchyard though. A lot of us kids like to play hide ‘n seek around there.”</p><p>The men shared annoyed glances among one another, but none had any reason to distrust the young girl. “How’s your momma doing, Stella?” Another man asked and her eyes hardened. The townsfolk were always looking for a fresh rumor to spread about the ever-fallen Jones family.</p><p>“She’s restin’,” the girl answered shortly, “she’ll be back on her feet in no time.’”</p><p>The men nodded, “well, you tell her we’re all prayin’ for her. Take care, Miss Stella.”</p><p>“Yessir.” She nodded and they went their separate ways. Once they were out on the road, Estella looked back, “you can come out now. They ain’t in sight.”</p><p>The boy hesitantly peeked out from under the cart’s cover, before fully sitting up. “Thank ya, miss.”</p><p>“My name’s Estella, but folks shorten it to Stella. You’re not from around here,” she stated matter-of-factly, “what’d you do to get in such trouble?”</p><p>“None of yer business, “ he retorted.</p><p>“Is too, since you made me your accomplice, “ Stella pointed out.</p><p>The boy huffed, “...-it wasn’t anythin’ too bad. Promise I’ve done worse.”</p><p>“That’s real comforting,” she rolled her eyes, “do I get to know your name, at least?”</p><p>There was a brief silence as the boy hesitated.</p><p>“Well, you have a name, don’t ya?” Estella pushed impatiently.</p><p>“...-Arthur.” He mumbled, seeming unsure.</p><p>“Well, Arthur, if you’re hungry, you should stay for dinner. Or I can drop you off at your folks’ place.” Though they matched in age, she spoke to him as though she were a decade older.</p><p>“...-don’t have any folks.”</p><p>Estella paused, momentarily feeling guilty. “Oh...well, do you wanna stay for dinner or not?” Her tone was notably softer.</p><p>“I dunno..,” he seemed unsure, but his stomach grumbled audibly, “maybe.”</p><p>She smiled secretly as they pulled up to her family’s cabin. It was a modest, but cozy dwelling. The cart was immediately ambushed by a spotted, brown collie. The dog’s tail wagged excitedly and it practically pummeled Estella as she descended from the driver’s seat. “...-you know I’m never gone for long, Gracie-girl,” she giggled as the dog licked her face. </p><p>She looked to Arthur as he jumped off the cart, only now noticing a tear in his worn pants, blood peeking out through the fabric. “...-did that happen when you fell?’ He nodded and she stood, placing her hands on her hips with a soft sigh. “Go sit on the porch and stay put. I need to take care of the horses first.” She instructed him with a firm point of her index finger. </p><p>Whether he actually chose to stay or not, she decided it wasn't any of her business. He’d probably take right off the moment she turned her back. Though, it seemed like this Arthur was full of surprises, as she returned from stables to find him sitting with Gracie, scratching behind the dog’s ear and cooing at her. </p><p>She sent them both a smile, briefly heading inside, “I’m home, momma!” She called, but received no response--her mother was usually sleeping, but the silence always gave her a dreaded start. After peeking in the bedroom to ensure her mother was still breathing, Estella gathered up some bandages, ointments, and a dampened cloth.</p><p>Plopping down next to Arthur on the porch, she reached for his knee. “Lemme see?”</p><p>He wordlessly turned to her, wincing slightly as he moved his knee up to rest on the porch.</p><p>“You outta be more careful…-and stay out of trouble, too.” Estella lectured him quietly as she gently dabbed the blood away from his scraped knee.</p><p>“Sorry, miss. Folks say trouble’s my middle name,” he shrugged, sending her a shy grin.</p><p>“...-well, you shouldn’t let folks define ya, then,” she replied, pausing for a moment, “but I know it ain’t easy, not having your parents around. My pa died a few years back and ma’s been sick for months now…-this might sting,” she interrupted herself to provide a warning as she applied the ointment.</p><p>“Sorry about your folks.”</p><p>She froze for a moment, glancing up at him. “...-I’m sorry about yours.” Their eyes met briefly, the two reaching a silent understanding. Estella was the first to look away, focusing on bandaging up his knee. “...-you should let me mend your pants. You could wear a pair of my pa’s old ones in the meantime. They might be a bit big on you, but they’d be better than nothin’.”</p><p>The young outlaw was beside himself, unsure how to react to her unprovoked kindness. Sure, he knew good folks existed. They just didn’t usually extend their ‘goodness’ to the likes of him. </p><p>Dutch and Hosea would start worrying eventually, but they knew he was out on a job. He also knew they’d be disappointed he got caught, but mostly just relieved as long as he returned in one piece. At the very least, they’d be pleased he managed to nab some jewelry and a fine pocket watch before having to run for it.</p><p>Estella didn’t wait for an answer, instead heading back inside to rummage through her father’s old clothes. </p><p>Arthur sat with Gracie again, slipping off the porch to sit down in the dirt and rub the dog’s belly, “you’re a good girl, ain'tcha?” He smiled to himself, wishing he had a dog of his own. Hearing the door swing open minutes later, he glanced up.</p><p>“Gracie really likes you. That must mean you ain’t all bad.” Estella noted, offering him a pair of pants several sizes too big. “Here, change into these while I get dinner started. You can come inside once you’re decent.”</p><p>He took the pants, still a bit dumbfounded at her actions. She didn’t give him time to argue either, the girl hurrying off back inside.</p><p>Estella hummed softly to herself as she kindled the wood-burning stove. She made stew nearly every night, seeing as it was both the only thing her mother managed to keep down and affordable to make. That said, she’d gotten reasonably good and making the cheap stew taste far better than the sum of its parts.</p><p>The pleasant, savory aroma of seared venison filled the cabin as Arthur slipped inside; his empty stomach loudly protested, demanding some of whatever smelled so good.</p><p>“You can set your pants on the chair there,” Estella didn’t even look up from her cooking, having heard him enter, “...-and, ah, take a seat.” She wasn’t used to having company, no one from town willing to visit for fear of catching her mother’s illness. She wasn’t invited over anywhere for the same reason, too.</p><p>The boy shuffled across the wooden flooring, seating himself at the dining table. With little else to do, Arthur observed his savior. She had no reason to be helping him, could have turned him in right then and there. Seemed like she had her own problems she should be worried about, too. Instead, she hid him, lied for him, and now she was cooking for him. </p><p>Once Estella had the stew at a nice simmer, she covered the pot and turned her attention to mending his pants. Retrieving a sewing kit from the cupboard she sat down across from him, examining the damage. She didn’t seem too interested in filling the silence and Arthur wasn’t a talkative one. </p><p>So, the boy reached into the bag he kept at his side, pulling out his journal. Hosea had gifted the book, encouraging him to practice writing whenever possible. At first, he intended on chronicling the day’s events, but somehow he ended up sketching the enigma of a girl before him. This way, maybe he’d always remember there was some kindness somewhere in this big country.</p><p>Once she mended the pants, Estella took them over a wash bucket, pouring in hot water from a kettle on the stove, and working to wash the grime away. When she was done, they hung neatly by the fireplace to dry.</p><p>“...-what are you writin’ about?” she finally asked as curiosity got the better of her.</p><p>Arthur nearly jumped, having been so focused and at-ease in the comfortable silence of the cabin, “ah--,” a light blush dusted his cheeks as he glanced between Estella and the sketch he’d nearly finished, “...nothin’ important, just journalin'.” </p><p>She smiled, “Sounds neat. My Pa kept a journal when he was in the war. I read it sometimes when I miss him real bad.” Estella surprised herself, so often being a locked box and unwilling to share, but maybe it was because she knew he’d understand. That, and she was so starved for company, it’s likely her social skills had rusted. </p><p>Arthur wasn’t exactly sure what to say, but he nodded. “I got a picture of mine. He ain’t much to miss, I guess, but it’s nice to have.”</p><p>Estella tilted her head, “what do ya mean?” The question slipped from her before she realized it wasn’t exactly polite. “--Sorry, I’m not intendin’ to pry.”</p><p>The boy merely shrugged, “he wasn’t around much. And weren’t exactly a good man.”</p><p>“Oh,” she nodded her understanding, green eyes softening.</p><p>“...-but my Ma took real good care of me. ‘Til she...-you know.” </p><p>Estella sighed, glancing toward the bedroom where her mother lay asleep. </p><p>“Is your Ma really going to be alright? Like you told those men?” The boy queried good-naturedly. Arthur knew how this world treated its orphans; he didn’t like the thought of someone so kind experiencing that.</p><p>As much as Estella wanted to keep up hope, at that moment she was honest with herself and with him. She shook her head, eyes pricking with tears. “No matter what I do, she just gets worse. She barely stays awake for more than an hour these days.” </p><p>“...-’m sorry to hear that,” Arthur’s eyes fell back to her journal, unsure of what else to say and kicking himself for even asking.</p><p>Estella seated herself across from him, seizing the moment for a subject change, “So. Are ya really not gonna tell me what you did to get half the town’s men chasin’ after you?”</p><p>His gaze flicked back up at her nervously, “it really ain’t a big deal, honest…”</p><p>She chuckled, “I’m gonna hear about it eventually. The rumors that fly around here almost outnumber the insects--and their bite’s much nastier too. They’ll make it sound like you pillaged the entire town by the time it gets to me. So I wanna hear the truth from you.”</p><p>Arthur heaved a sigh. She was stubborn, he’d give her that. He reasoned that if she were going to turn him in, she’d also have to implicate herself for helping him, so he relented. “I, uh, robbed...a stagecoach.”</p><p>Her eyes widened in disbelief, “by yourself?!” </p><p>He smiled, shrugging, “I was trying to impress Du--I mean, the folks I travel with.” Arthur couldn’t believe he’d almost exposed his affiliation with Dutch Van der Linde; something about this girl was disarming and that concerned him. “Obviously, it didn’t pan out.”</p><p>“You’re lucky you didn’t get shot or worse!” She exclaimed, seeming more outraged that he’d been so reckless than over the fact he’d committed a crime.</p><p>“...-lucky I ran into you,” he threw back with a sheepish grin. </p><p>Estella scoffed, shaking her head, though the words and his adorable expression warmed her cheeks. “Yeah, well. You’re right about that.” She shook her head, turning her attention back to the stove and beginning to ladle out three servings.</p><p>Arthur stayed after dinner that night; she made a bed for him on the cabin floor. It was nice to have the usual silence filled with conversation; he shared stories about his travels and she taught him a few poker tricks.</p><p>But come morning, the mysterious boy had gone. He left behind only a note, thanking her, with a drawing of Gracie adorning the corner of the page. </p><p>It was folded neatly and put away for safekeeping.</p>
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